Page 86 of Shelter Me

“He’s really alive?” I murmur as I fall apart in his arms.

“He is,” he says. “He is.” He presses my face against his chest and lowers his head to my neck. “Listen, Liv,” he says in my ear, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to be your brother, ok? I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, or what you’ve been going through, and what awaits you, and I want nothing more than to be there for you. But I’m messing it up already. I don’t know how to be anyone’s brother.”

“I don’t know how to be your sister either,” I murmur between sobs. Marco is alive, my heart is singing. I am so relieved it hurts to breathe.

Hector holds me tighter, and that helps.

“But I know this,” he says. “I know that I want to destroy anyone who hurts you, like I always have. That I would do anything to make you happy. That I’ll always have your back. That I can talk to you like I can’t talk to anyone else, that I can tell you anything I want.”

“I feel the same. The exact same.”

His face splits in a huge smile, and he tugs at my jacket until I’m folded in his arms.

“We’ll be ok,” he says, and his voice sounds wet with tears.

And, somehow, I know he’s right. We’ll be more than ok.

…

I am so happy I’m almost skipping up the stairs on the way to Marco’s mom’s hotel room. She’s staying at a hotel close to the hospital where Marco is in—we’re in New York. And then, just as Hector is about to knock, it hits me:

Marco is still in a critical condition. He’s in the hospital because of me, and after that he might be put in jail because of me. She might not be ecstatic to meet me.

But before I can grab Hector and make a run for it, the door of her room opens, and she stands there. She looks so much like Marco, my knees nearly buckle.

She is tall, almost as tall as him, but something about her feels fragile. Her hair is blond, lighter than Marco’s, but he has her eyes. They have wrinkles at the corners, as if she smiles often. Or as if she used to. Her eyes travel from Hector to mine, in confusion, but then they stop. She takes me in, my wild hair, my dark eyes, my slacks. She does a double take on my face, trying to place me. And finally she recognizes me.

“You…” she says, “you are her. You are the… the highness.”

“Her Highness the Crown Princess Olivia,” Hector says helpfully, as if now is the moment to announce my title (it’s not).

“I’m Olivia,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs, and his sentence ends in a cough.

Marco’s mom’s eyebrows lift, and her blue eyes, so like her son’s, have an unreadable expression on them.

“You…” she says again. “You are why.”

/we the rotten royals/

Official statement

We would like to issue a formal apology to His Majesty the King of Asteria and the Crown Princess Olivia of Asteria. It is not our place to judge their choices, and we join the billions of people in their wishes for a speedy recovery and continued safety for them both.

We will make no further comment or announcement unless it is sanctioned by His Majesty himself, as a sign of respect. We do not condone his behavior but nor do we feel, at present, that it is up to us to judge it. The monarchy has many faults, and we will fight tirelessly to right them, as is our right. We will fight to make this rotten world a little less rotten. We sincerely hope to be able to work alongside His Majesty to do so.

His Majesty, our father.

Signed:

We the Rotten Royals

fourteen

I had promised myself I wouldn’t cry.

That was a stupid promise.

Even before she starts talking, her voice steady and warm, but thick with emotion, tears are already pouring down my cheeks.

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